


An Alien Country

by metic



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Dark Reylo, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Oral Sex, Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metic/pseuds/metic
Summary: Rey makes the best of a marriage she did not want.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 23
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

The Empress was sewing in her solar in the light of the double sun when the Emperor passed through the gleaming, translucent doors. The maidens seated in a semi-circle around her stiffened and fell instantly to their knees, Rey herself rose, and bowed from her waist.

“Majesty,” she said, and glanced at her husband. As usual, he was clad in severe black, an ever constant criticism of the excesses of Court. His hair was tied back from his face, and held in place by an iron crown. As she thought every time she saw him, he well fulfilled the role of conqueror.

“Wife,” he said, by way of greeting. “Would you walk with me?” She dropped into a curtsy, straightened, and set aside her handicraft, careful to ensure her needle was carefully pierced through her pincushion. 

“Your majesty honors me.”

Her handmaidens remained on their knees, while the Emperor held out his arm to her, and drew her flush against him.

“Am I interrupting you?” He asked, his voice low. Rey listened to the sound of his guards following a steady three feet behind him.

“I was only sewing,” she said. “Nothing important.”

“I would have sent a messenger,” he said. “But my afternoon is free, and I wanted to visit you.”

“I welcome any change in routine,” she responded, eyes downcast. She could hear, in the distance, the chirruping of the birds kept in the palace gardens. Every month, the aviarist would clip their wings with silver-handled scissors, and leave them able to glide from tree to tree, but incapable of soaring above the palace and out to freedom.

Like her, the birds tended to be from the desert, all bright colors and lovely plumage and vague, insubstantial songs that they sang, day after day for the Emperor’s pleasure.

“You look lovely this afternoon,” he said, and he traced his thumb over the back of her hand. His voice was low, soft, the kind of voice her guardian used to use to gentle frightened beasts.

“Thank you,” she said.

The deeper they went into the palace, the more windows there were. The cyclopean stone wall of the exterior gave way to beaten gold and clear glass and diamond-set frames that allowed all the light of the two suns to shine in. The clear gems the Empress wore in her elaborately coiffed hair broke the sunlight into rainbow shards, and scattered the splintered rays across the glass, which broke and refracted the light in turn. At her side, the Emperor was a dark presence, and the dull iron of his crown did not reflect more than a single band of gleaming sun.

The birds in the gardens sang in the distance.

When they came to the royal apartment, the heavy footsteps of their guards fell away to nothingness, and her husband opened the door to his chambers. Normally when he wanted her he came to her at night, or else he summoned her to his private solar and made use of her in the solitude of his study. She had seen the inside of his rooms before, of course, over the year and some of their marriage, but infrequently enough that she could not help her curious glance. 

His rooms were as ascetic as his wardrobe. Unlike her chambers, which were adorned with vibrant tapestries on every wall, and ornaments of gold and silver and bronze, and comfortable cushions to allow her to sprawl before her fire during her leisure time, his chambers looked like the cloistered cell of a religious hermit, except for the bookshelves, cut into living stone, which were stacked with neat, leather-bound books.

“I wish to lie with you,” he said, as though that had not been obvious. Obediently, she began the painstaking process of unlacing her dress; she contemplated and then cast from her mind the difficulty she would suffer in redressing herself without aid.

He stopped her when she came to her corset, and he pressed his lips to hers. His tongue moved insistently at her lips, and, as he had taught her, she opened her mouth to permit him access. He buried his hands in her hair and turned her chin upwards and licked the inside of her mouth with something approaching desperation.

“Rey,” he murmured. “You feel so good.” His nimble fingers made quick work of her remaining clothes, and then he palmed her small breasts in his hand, running his thumb over her nipples. “I cannot wait to watch you grow round with my child, my sweet,” he murmured.

Briefly, she wondered whether he would keep his child in blacks and greys, or whether he would ornament his heir as he ornamented her.

He sat on the edge of his bed, and he urged her to her knees. The first few times she had resisted this indignity, but she had learned since then that it was easier to give her husband what he wanted, that he was amenable when he was happy, and that he wanted her willing, or a simulacrum of the same.

She knelt before him, and he shucked off his robes and held his already stiffening cock before her. Obediently, she took it in her mouth, and his hands went to her hair to hold her in place while he slowly eased himself inside her.

The first few times had left her in tears, but she had learned to relax the muscles of her throat, to breath through her nose, to focus on the minute details of the way her knees creaked as her husband fucked her mouth. He thrust into her slowly, at first, accustoming her to his girth, to his length, to the alien sensation, and then he gained his preferred rhythm. She was careful to keep her teeth from touching him.

“Oh Rey,” he gasped. “I’ve thought of nothing but you all day.” She glanced up at him, and found his eyes warm and almost hopeful. His hand stroked her hair almost tenderly, and, as he had taught her, she swallowed him further into her throat.

He trailed his fingers lightly down her shoulder to her breasts, and she tried not to shiver as he touched her. She could feel strings of spittle leaking from her mouth, and she could hear the deepening of his rasping pants.

“Stop, stop,” he said, abruptly, pulling away from her. He drew her up from her knees, and bent her over the bed, and he dipped his hand between her legs.

Rey bit her lip to keep from moaning as his knuckles brushed against her clitoris. He slipped his fingers inside her, first two then three, and despite herself, she felt the beginnings of pleasure coiling tightly in her stomach. Then he parted her legs, lined himself up between her thighs, and thrust into her.

Before she could fully acclimate to him, he thrust into her again. The position allowed him to enter her more deeply than she was ordinarily used to, and she propped herself up on her elbows and allowed her body to sway beneath his as he chased his pleasure in her flesh.

Occasionally, he reached for her breasts, or drew teasing circles between her legs, or pressed open-mouthed kisses on her taut spine.

He thrust into her; he withdrew; he thrust again.

Idly, she wondered if he did this out of duty, or out of desire for a child to secure his legacy, or out of some genuine emotion for her.

“My Rey,” he murmured, almost tenderly, against her neck. “I love you like this, speared on my cock, my lovely wife.” He thrust into her more deeply, and Rey groaned at the strange mingling of pain and pleasure that shot through her.

He did not last much longer. He came inside her, and when he withdrew, he gathered her up into his arms and laid down on the bed.

“I’m sorry to keep you from your duties,” he said. “But I so dearly want to lie with you.”

“Of course,” Rey said, delicately, and shifted so she was more comfortably held by him.

She used to be afraid of him, when she was newly married, and he was only the mysterious, dark-swathed Emperor. She no longer feared him. 

In a few minutes, his breathing evened, and he fell asleep. She allowed herself to feel her own exhaustion pooling through her veins, and she shut her eyes and dozed off.

She awoke in his arms, to him moving lazily inside of her, one hand between her legs coaxing pleasure from her, the other toying with her breasts, his lips on her neck. She gasped as he thrust deeply inside her, and gasped again when an unexpected jolt of pleasure shivered through her stomach.She was still tender from his earlier ministrations, but he was far more gentle now that he was half asleep, and his movements were regular enough that she knew she would find her own pleasure.

“Kylo,” she said, voice soft.

“My Rey,” he said, tenderly, layering kisses on her neck.

“Please,” she said, and his fingers between her legs moved more insistently. She fell apart around him, her vision turning into shattered starlight, and when she regained control of her senses, she felt him moving deep within her.

When he finished, she would speak to him about the resistance member whose name she had pretended not to know, and who was currently being housed in the dungeons. She had found him open to clemency, so long as she was naked in his arms.

She lay still, like he liked her to, and she listened to the sweet chirruping of the garden birds. In the half light of evening, with one of the suns set, and the other still setting, they sounded almost merry. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while; and thank you all for the kind feedback. check the updated tags! This chapter is a bit more non-con than the last chapter was.

There were times when she thought him easy to read; there were times when she thought he might just be the most contradictory man alive. She would have considered him entirely mad, if he hadn’t, over the course of a single decade, bent half the continent to his whim, and made the other half quake in terror that he would turn his gaze south. How could he be mad and still be so competent?

And he had spurned every marriage offered, he had rejected envoys from fertile Naboo, the breadbasket of his new empire, he had refused to even consider the queen of Takodana, although its location right in the center of the Spice Road made it one of the wealthiest countries in the world, despite its size. He had even rejected an alliance with martial Tatooine, whose warriors were feared the whole world over.

Instead, he himself had come to Niima Outpost in the barren land of Jakku, where even kings went hungry on occasion, and he had raised her from a scavenger to an Empress within the span of a single day.

She didn’t go hungry, not anymore. She never wanted for anything, she dressed herself in jewels, she had a vast retinue of maids and servants and attendants and guards who dedicated themselves to accomplishing her wish.

Did he know she’d been involved in weapons smuggling before their marriage? Did he know that occasionally she recognized the prisoners who were brought before his court? Jakku was a small kingdom, after all, and filled with dissidents. Hunger had a way of making people truculent, then making them desperate.

Rey wondered when she’d last been hungry, or thirsty, or sunburnt, or scared to go to sleep. Surely enduring the Emperor’s attentions was better than her old life? Sooner or later, one of the men to whom she sold collected detritus would have invited her into their bed in exchange for more food, or more coin, or perhaps even a place to wait out the worst of the summer sandstorms. She would have gone. At least with Kylo, she had luxury, even if it did not come freely.

She rarely slept alone anymore. He had not tired of her in the year and some that they had been married, if anything, he had only grown more eager to fuck her. He liked, after he’d finished, to gather her in his arms and hold her against his chest and bury his face in her neck, and match his even breaths to hers.

He had known exactly where to find her, in the barren, isolated Niima Outpost. There had been no knocking on doors, no forced search, no deployment of the army. He had simply marched up to her little hovel, his hobnailed boots stirring dust in his wake, and he had spoken her name, and introduced himself, and announced that he desired to make her his Empress.

And that evening she had married him, dressed in borrowed lace and jewels more costly than anything she’d ever seen in her entire life. He’d made her choke on his cock before he finally sheathed himself inside her body, but in the morning he had draped her in jewels and crowned her his Empress. The bruises he sucked into her neck were concealed with a necklace made from thick links of gold inset with gems the colors of the double rainbow.

They had traveled the long distance overland from Jakku to the Imperial City, and he had been, if not kind, at least solicitous.

He refused to talk about what had drawn him to her, just like he refused to refrain from touching her. If she shoved his hands away, he pinned her wrists above her head. If she evaded his kisses, he forced his lips to hers.

If she acquiesced, he could be almost gentle.

It was easier just to submit, she found. 

It was strange how quickly she grew accustomed to her change of circumstance.

The Imperial City got cold, especially at night. In Jakku, close to the equator, at least one of the suns was above the horizon at all times, and there was no night, only a kind of dim twilight that never lasted long. In the Imperial City, the true night fell and left stars trailing in its wake. The palace was coal-warmed, but for someone desert-born and desert-bred, simply the chill of the absent suns was enough to set her shivering.

When he slept in her bed, she did not shiver. 

But she never slept too deeply either. His hands wandered in his sleep, he enjoyed touching her breasts, or the juncture between his legs. Pushing him away did no good, he was too eager, too excited, too easily roused to lust. So Rey learned to lie still and let him touch her.

He liked her to be always ready for him; he liked her to sleep with his seed dripping out of her quim, he liked to fuck it deeper into her in the middle of the night, during the third watch, when even the stars and moon were dimmed in preparation for the double sunrise.

She came gradually to be aware of him moving within her. She was on her side, facing away from him, but he had slipped his knee between her leg to pierce her through with his cock. She bit back a cry at a particularly rough thrust that split her open rather uncomfortably. She was still bruised and sore from his ministrations earlier in the afternoon. He had come to her with a bottle of oil, and had told her to get on her knees and support herself on her elbows, and first he’d forced one finger, then two, in her resisting hole, and then he’d fucked her with even less consideration than usual. He’d been less than gentle with her breasts; he’d bitten her neck almost to the point of blood, and the alien stretch of her unready body had left her in tears.

He hated when she cried. She had not yet determined whether that was because he felt guilty, or because it lessened his enjoyment of her, since it made her face blotchy and her eyes red.

And he was fucking her again, as though he hadn’t almost broken her earlier. His right hand gripped her breast, his left tangled in her hair. 

He thrust further into her, spreading her legs to make her more accommodating to his touch, and Rey bit her lip and tried to keep her limbs limp, like he wanted.

“My Empress,” he murmured into her ear, his voice rough. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice did not tremble. Her body protested its rough use, her skin felt over-touched, abraded, the way it felt after a week-long sandstorm in Niima. He slipped his hands down between her legs, and slowly, leisurely, in time to the rocking motion he used to force himself deeper into her body, he forced his forefinger into her mouth. She bit back a cry, but she could not help the moan that came when he pressed the flat of his palm over her clit and began to rub.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “My perfect wife, my love, taking my cock so well.” Unwanted sparks of pleasure jolted through her, and she felt herself grow slick. He withdrew his finger, and eased it gently into her still-aching arse.

He thrust more deeply into her, touching the spot inside her that never failed to make his advances easier to endure, and at the same time began to move his finger inside her.

“Rey,” he said. “Say my name.”

“Kylo,” she said, desperately. Even (especially?) he could not tell pain from pleasure. “Please, please, Kylo-”

“Tell me to come inside you,” he commanded. He thrust into her with more vigor, she felt the scrape of his nail inside her arse, and she clenched around his cock without quite meaning to, and he made an almost animalistic sound, a sound that might have started as her name. Pleasure flared like lightning when he increased the pressure of his palm against her clit. Her body, split open on his cock, invaded by his finger, trembled.

“Give me your seed,” she said, as he liked, and his lips closed over hers. His breath was redolent of the rich wine they’d shared over dinner, his tongue traced delicately over hers, a near impossible contrast to his brutal abuse of her body. “Come in me, Kylo.”

He came, spurting inside her, and when he came he bit a blue-black bruise on her neck and made her cry out.

“I am so glad I found you,” he said, stroking her hair with his hands, his voice rough. He did not roll off her, did not slip his softening cock from her body. Instead, he settled her more firmly against his hip, and began, idly, to toy with her breasts.

“I don’t know how you managed it,” she said. It was dangerous, speaking of her past with him. He did not like questions.

“There was nowhere else you could have been,” he said. “Now sleep Rey, now that you’ve come on my cock, and when you wake up again I’ll be hard again, and we can have each other.”

She knew better than to say that she had not, in fact, come. She shifted to settle herself as best she was able, and tried not to dwell on his promise.

Better she warm Kylo’s cock than that of some inbred scavenger-lording’s son. Better she drink wine every evening, and wear furs in winter, and wear silks of quadruple-colors in the summer, than trade her body for some cast-off, molding apple in the middle of a sandstorm.

She could endure his touches. She had to. And maybe he would actually make her come next time he fucked her. He was usually attentive to that, if she moaned his name loudly enough.

It was better that she wasn’t running weapons anymore. It was better that she wasn’t starving. It was better that she had a purpose, even if that purpose was simple lying still while the Emperor took his pleasure from her body. Wasn’t it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse moved me, so here is even more trash for you. Thank you, lovely readers, for all your comments!

She liked the way her sapphires, her rubies, her emeralds, and her chains of yellow gold reflected the light of the twin suns. The Emperor always laughed at her when she preened before a mirror, but she had grown up believing a hunk of burned bread, or the husk of an old corn cob was a treasure worth having. How else should she have reacted to jewels worth more than all of Niima Outpost had been?

Besides, for all that Kylo laughed at her when she twirled in the sunlight and watched the double rainbows of broken light spill from shards of her gemstones, he liked her pretty, and he liked her elegant, and he liked her weighed down with opulence. 

She heard whispers that he was a princess’ son, and that he was born in a hovel, as poor as she had been. She didn’t know the truth. No one did. He had come from nowhere and ravaged the world, the way a stray spark from a flint catches fire and consumes a dry field in summer.

He shifted beneath her, and she bit her lip at the scrape of his cock inside her body, unable to suppress a shiver that caused her to arch against him. It had been most of the evening that she sat like that, draped over his lap, her head rested in the crook of his neck, his cock in her cunt. He held open without the relief of more than the barest push inwards or pull out, uncomfortably large and hard inside her.

“Unless you want me in a different hole, you’ll stay still, Empress,” he murmured. She did not know how he could stand to be so still, to be content to merely force himself inside her without granting either of them the relief of friction. She knew his was no idle threat either; more than once he’d made good on his promise, and that was doubly, trebly uncomfortable. 

She tried her hardest to relax, to remove her mind from the way her cunt gaped openly around him, squeezing him in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the stretch of his girth. He stroked her hair with his hand, soothing her the way a man soothes a nervous horse.

“Such a good wife,” he said. “I know you’re trying.” But she knew that his voice was distracted, that undoubtedly he planned to sit like this for at least another hour, while she grew steadily more and more uncomfortable, driven almost mad by the near-inconsequential shifting of his cock within her. Eventually, she knew, he would grow tired of her moving, and he’d take her arse, with oil if she was lucky.

He’d been particularly interested in her arse recently. The past five nights she’d awakened to the feeling of the blunt head of his cock, oil-coated, forcing its way past the ring of muscle that was always too tight to easily admit him, and she’d been forced to bite the silk pillow beneath her head to keep from whimpering at the intrusion, each time more painful than the last.

He was insatiable, restless, always half ready to fuck her. She wondered when he slept, if he slept at all.

He shifted her so he could reach for a field report from one of his generals, and she told herself sternly to stay still, to remain limp, to let him move her, but the slight change in angle pushed him deeper, and she could not help the way her body rebelled against this increased invasion. Of their own volition, she rocked her hips, and he smacked her clothed buttocks with the flat of his palm.

“Second warning, Empress,” he said, but she could hear laughter behind the sternness in his tone. “You’re teasing me.”

Did he think she wanted him to take her arse again? 

“I didn’t mean to, Majesty,” she said, and he looped his hands in her hair and pulled her head back so their gazes met.

“Mmm?” He asked. “Then think of a way to apologize.” His face was normally occluded by a scowl, but when he looked at her, it was neutral, perhaps even fond. Delicately, ignoring the way her muscles moaned against any movement, ignoring her throbbing clit, she traced her fingertips down the scar that marred the right hand side of his face, and pressed her lips against his.

She could taste him, something fragrant and woodsy mingled with the wine he sipped at intervals. His tongue forced itself inside her mouth, and his hands came to grope, roughly at her breasts. She held herself still through sheer willpower, and allowed him to lick the inside of her mouth.

“My lovely Rey,” he whispered, pulling away from her. “What did I do before you?”

“You must have been bored,” she said, in the same airy tone her maids and the ladies of the court used to discuss the weather. He could construe it as flirtatious, if he wished. He was unlikely to think it anything more.

“I was too anxious to be bored,” he said. “You have no idea what it was like, worrying every second of the day. It’s so different now that I have you, now that I can be inside you whenever I want, now that your body is mine-” just to prove his point, he thrust his hips against hers, and she whimpered at the way he jostled her. “Now stay still,” he ordered, and she resumed her place against his neck, her legs kneeling on either side of his hips, her bodice half-open so that he could see the curve of her breasts when he glanced down, and so that he could fit his hand inside to fondle her when he grows bored with whatever he was doing.

He liked her to be useful.

“How I detest Hux,” he muttered, more to himself than her, and she stored up the venom in his voice, as well as the knowledge. She had been lost when she came to the imperial City, but not for long. Her criminal’s instincts had served her well, after all.

The candles burned down, wicks tapering, the fire growing gradually dimmer as logs fell to embers. When the second sun set, the birds ceased from their singing.

His hand crept gradually up her leg, then found her center and began to rub. She tried to ignore the pressure that built and coiled within her, but his cock had speared her open for almost a full evening at that point, and he had not made her come in days. She could not help the way her body responded, coating his fingers and his cock in lubrication, and forcing her hips to roll forwards.

“Third warning, Empress,” he said with a gentle laugh. “I’ll fuck you properly, but first I want you to come for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Majesty,” she gasped, dreading what was to come but unable to think of anything except the feeling of him inside her, and the way his fingers send bolts of white lightning up her skin. She fell apart with a gasp, seeing white, and he laughed again and pulled her off him, staining her clothes with her release.

“It seems I need to teach my Empress her place,” he said, his tone mock-severe. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was serious, his intent was the same. She tried in vain to relax in preparation for what he would do. He stood her up, her legs quivering and half-asleep from the long time she had spent snared on his cock, and he unceremoniously tugged down her bodice to expose her bruised breasts, and turned her away from him. His hand on her back forced her to bend over his desk, narrowly avoiding a drop of spilled ink. He hiked her skirts to her hips, and his foot kicked hers legs apart, and his right hand held her immobile, while he forced the first finger of his left inside her.

She could not help her gasp at the intrusion.

“Will you learn your lesson, Rey?” He asked.

“Yes, Majesty,” she said, miserably. She felt the head of his cock at her entrance, and although she arched her back in a vain attempt to avoid it, he held her still and slowly, slowly eased into her. The stretch burned, and tears pooled in the corners of her eye. He thrust shallowly, working himself in, sending new bursts of pain through her with every movement of his hips.

“Will you be still in the future?” He asked, voice breathy. 

“Yes, Majesty,” she responded, and she could not help the trembling in her voice.

“Good wives do not disobey their husbands,” he murmured. He pulled out of her almost as far as her entrance, and then he surged forwards and sank in the rest of the way, and she bit her sleeve to keep from whining. “I must punish disobedience where I find it.”

“I’m sorry Kylo,” she pleaded, although she knew it would do no good. He set a brutal pace, fucking fast and hard, with no care for her lack of preparation. He always lasted longer when he took her arse, and he was always more brutal too. His hands squeezed her breasts, his hips pistoned against hers, and he held her down and had his way with her despite her weak protests.

When he came, his nails drew blood where his hand met the skin of her back, and he bit her shoulder forcefully enough to leave a mark.

“What have I taught you, Rey?” He asked, tone imperious.

“To obey you, Majesty.”

“That’s right. Now go to our chambers, and don’t think of washing me out of you unless you like the idea of me fucking you dry again.” Her heart sank at this promise, and she met his dark eyes with a liquid, tear-stained gaze.

“Please, Majesty, I am so sore-”

“Rey,” he said, and his voice was ice. “What all have I done for you? I raised you from a scavenger rat to an Empress; I made you the possessor of all the wealth in the world, and all I ask in return is that you serve and obey me. You are sore because I have not yet accustomed you to my needs, and the more I use you, the more you will come to enjoy what we do. You want to be useful, don’t you?”

“Yes Majesty,” she murmured.

“Then you’ll let me fuck your arse, or your cunt, or your mouth, or your breasts, or your thighs, or whatever else I want when I want it. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I expect you naked when I come to bed,” he said, and she could tell by the coldness in his tone that she was dismissed. 

She held back her sobs until she reached her chambers, and then she cried in earnest, because she was sore, and she missed the way the double suns turned all of Jakku to a glass ocean at midday, and she wanted to be free of Kylo’s expectations.

Then she washed her face, and combed her hair, and lay down naked on her bed.

He was late coming to her, but when he came, he knelt over her head and forced his cock past her unresisting lips, and he fucked her throat, ignoring the way she gagged around him, unmoved by the tears that streamed from her eyes.

It was better than having him take her from behind again, at least. She sucked him as best she was able, as she knew he liked, and he moved above her, enjoying the feel of her mouth, no doubt. When he came she swallowed down his seed, and he took her into his arms and she fell asleep to him toying with her breasts.

She awoke to him fucking her, as she did most nights, of course, but she was on her stomach, not her side, and he was not in her arse. She felt herself growing accustomed to the uncomfortable motion of him inside her, and she drifted in and out of sleep, hearing the slap of skin on skin, and feeling occasional drops of sweat fall from his head onto her back. She drifted off before he came, and when she rose the next morning, she saw he had left her a necklace of garnets, bright as blood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this far into this absolute trash. I have the general outline of the plot sketched out, but if there's something you'd like to see occur between our leads, I'm more than willing to hear suggestions.

During the year and some she had been married, Rey had grown gradually familiar with the faces of the Empire’s thousand autocrats, who operated within the sprawling palace complex. Officially of course, she had very little to do with the politics of the empire, but it was an open secret that the Emperor held her in favor, and once that became known, the various functionaries attempted to make her favor them.

They tried gifts first, but Rey had everything she could ever want already from Kylo’s hands, and so, instead of gifts, her sycophants began to bring her information.

There was never much discussion of this. Frantis Griss and his young wife would appear in her gardens, offer a small obeisance to the shrine of the Emperor’s predecessor, and in the same tone of voice he used to discuss the weather, or the clear light of the double suns, he would mention, in an off-hand manner, that Naboo was suffering an unfortunate water shortage that was causing unrest within the lower classes.

In return, Rey would mention to Kylo that she’d had a pleasant visit with Lady Griss, and he would permit her to invite them to tea, or supper, or else he would simply say that he was pleased that she was pleased.

When Enric Pryde displeased her, the Emperor banished him from court for a full month.

In the past, Rey had believed power to be the heft of a sturdy stick in her labor-hardened arms; she believed power to be a swift blow, or a gold coin.

But when she moved through the palace, hair appropriately veiled, she was aware of the way all the ministers swirled, agitated, in her wake, the way the wind stirred leaves.

And all this made it easier to bear Kylo’s weight pressing her into the mattress while he rutted above her.

She knew by his rough manner that something had gone wrong. Perhaps his navy had not fared as well in Mon Calamari as he had hoped.

He forced her thighs further apart, and drove into her with forceful, rapid strokes that seemed designed to split her open. Already she could feel bruises rising where his fingers gripped her. The awkward position he held her in, her face buried in the silk pillow, her hips gripped by his hands, with him kneeling between them.

He pounded relentlessly into her, and Rey tried to focus on anything except the way his body joined itself to hers.

What good were words to her when he held such power over her, when he could bend her over his desk, or force her to his knees, or take his pleasure from her at his will?

He was her husband, her Emperor, her master. What he wanted was his right, and what he wanted, more often than not, was to be balls-deep in her body.

Hux had noted, nonchalantly, that marriage seemed to have tempered the Emperor’s worst instincts.

“Fuck, Rey,” he croooned above her, thrusting into her. “You’re so good, so tight. Such a good wife, aren’t you? So young and pretty-”

“Please, Kylo,” she pleaded. For what, she wasn’t sure. He’d told her to make herself come while he watched, and she’d circled her clit with a shaking finger, driven by his dark gaze, by the lust evident in his eyes. She was slick and dripping for him when he entered her, and his rough use of her body had been aided by the way her hips canted towards his touch. “It’s too much, please-”

“Too much?” He questioned, voice gruff. “Rey, my Rey, you take what you are given. When I give you my cock you take it.” To punctuate his point, he surged brutally into her, and she had to bite her pillow to keep from crying out. “You’re my wife. You’re mine to do with what I please.”

So he continued moving within her, forcing himself deeper into her body, levering her legs apart with his massive hands, skewering her on his cock.

She was crying, she realized, but she did not know if it was from the pain blooming in her legs and in her center, or from the desire that had sprouted, unheeded, within her once again. Perhaps it was both.

He came gasping her name, filling her with his seed, and when he pulled out of her she felt the trickle leaking out between her legs.

“When I come to you tonight I want you sticky with me,” he said. He slid a finger up her leg, and forced some of his seed back inside her. She flinched away from his touch at her oversensitive hole. “I want you to know your place. I want you to go about your day knowing I’m dripping out of you.”

“I want something too,” she said, and he stroked her hair with something approximating tenderness.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“Kiss me,” she said. Instantly his lips seized hers, his hands cupped her cheek and drew her to him, he traced his tongue over her lips and slipped it inside her mouth. He kissed her like he fucked her, with passion but absent much regard. She let him, and when at last he pulled away, she found he would not meet her gaze.

She thought of Frantis Griss and his wife in her gardens.

“I will see you later,” he said, but his voice was unsteady. She had disquieted him, somehow.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, with the same sweet tone she used to use to get an extra slice of bread from one of the merchant-traders in Niima. “Can’t you stay now? It’s already late.”

“Not with the situation in Mon Calamari being what it is,” he said. So, she had been right after all. “Not with Hux being the idiot he is. If I didn’t need the support of his clan, I would have exiled him years ago, but his incompetence is going to cost us an easy victory.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she murmured.

Hux had asked her once if she was happy in Imperial City, with the same casual tone anyone might use to talk about the weather.

No one ever talked about the weather in Imperial City, not really.

“I shouldn’t bore you with all that, however,” he said, and Rey forced a bright smile to her face.

“I want to take what I’m given.”

“Fuck, Rey,” he breathed, and he kissed her again, tasting the inside of her mouth, kissing bruises into her lips. “Fuck, I want you.”

“I’m yours,” she said.

“You’re mine,” he agreed. Somehow, impossibly, she could already feel him hardening against her thigh, but he had said he had meetings to attend to. “Use your mouth, Rey,” he ordered.

She rose, uncomfortably aware of him still dripping from between her legs, and he solicitously placed a pillow on the floor, so she could kneel without causing her knees to ache. His cock, half-hard and glistening with slick and come, twitched before her, and she obediently twirled her tongue around its head, tasting their combined musks.

He groaned, and placed his hands in her hair. He held her steady, and he eased himself slowly into her mouth, moving into her centimeter by centimeter, too fast for her to fully adjust. Her throat seized up, unprepared for the viciousness of his length, and she gagged, but if he noticed he did not care. He kept forcing himself inside her, and at least he was not fully hard, at least he was not as thick yet as she knew he would become. She did her best to swallow around him, and he began to thrust, each movement seating him deeper in her mouth.

The taste was nauseating, overwhelming, the sensation of his cock buried in her mouth was enough to make her fear she could not breathe. She tried to relax, to breathe through her nose, but already she could feel fresh tears pooling. 

Kylo groaned, eyes shut in bliss. His fingers pulled her hair unpleasantly, and he thrust experimentally, forcing himself yet deeper, scraping the ridges of his cock along her tongue. She tried to hold her mouth open, to prevent heer teeth from touching him (once and only once she’d bitten him; in punishment, he’d forced a wooden phallus up her arse and had tied her hands to prevent her from removing it. He’d threatened to let every man in the city fuck her like that, but of course, she knew even then that he was blustering. Whatever he felt for her, he had no desire to share her.)

“Little seductress,” he murmured. “Here I’m busy, and you’re enticing me away from my duties.”

He thrust into her firmly, at this point nearing full erection once again. If his hands hadn’t held her steady, she would have jerked away. Fresh tears pooled, and, almost tenderly, he used his thumbs to brush them away.

“My wife,” he purred. “I love seeing you like this, broken, desperate.”

She tried not to cough, and mostly managed. He was thrusting in earnest now, moving gradually from shallow thrusts to deep plunges that scraped the back of her throat, and had her nose pressed against his pubic hair.

He came more quickly this time, and when she had swallowed his seed he lifted her up and kissed her, careless of the mess around her mouth.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmured. 

The next morning was pleasant enough. In the gardens, beneath the canopy of green trees and brightly colored, flightless, singing birds, she met gruff, mercenary Phasma, who ruled the restless province of Alderaan in defiance of the lords of the Empire. Her country had always been matriarchal, and not even incorporation into the new confederation could change that.

“How are you today, Empress?” Phasma asked, lightly.

“Well enough,” she said. “Only concerned for my Emperor. He worries so about Mon Calamari, and I fret over him.”

“I share his concerns, although mine are directed towards Alderaan.” Phasma said, in the same tone one used to talk about the weather.

Rey bit her lip, and winced, having forgotten the bruise Kylo had left.

Her body ached, and he had indicated that he would fuck her arse again either this afternoon or this evening, since he had told her to ensure she had enough oil.

"I will pass your worries on to Lord Finn," Phasma said, with a solicitous smile. "I am certain he will think of ways to mollify them."


End file.
